ain't ye? That there leetle gal is
some spry. Ginger ain't shown so much sperit since b'fore Adam!"

"Now, I tell ye, Mr. Cross Moore," declared the driver of the pony,
sharply, "we came very near having a serious accident. And all because
these rails aren't repaired. You're one of the_se_-lectmen and you'd
oughter have sense enough to repair that railin'. Wait till somebody
drives plump into the ditch and the town has a big damage bill to pay."

"Aw, now, there ain't many folks drives this way," defended Mr. Cross
Moore.

"There's enough. And think o' Hopewell Drugg's Lottie. She's always
running up and down this lane. Somebody's goin' to pitch head-fust
inter that ditch yet, Cross Moore, an' then you'll be sorry."

She was a very vigorous-speaking old lady, that was sure. The sister
by her side was of much milder temperament, and she was thanking Janice
very sweetly while the other scolded Selectman Moore.

"We thank you very much, my dear. You are much braver than _I_ am, for
I'm free to confess I'm afraid of all cattle," said the plump old lady,
in a somewhat shaken voice. "Who are you, my dear? I don't remember
seeing you before."

"I am Janice Day, Ma'am."

"Day? You belong here in Poketown? There's Days live on Hillside
Avenue."

"Yes, Ma'am," confessed Janice. "Mr. Jason Day is my uncle. But I am
Broxton Day's daughter."

"Why, do tell!" cried the plump little old lady, who had pink cheeks
and the very warmest of warm smiles, as she looked into the girl's
hazel eyes. "See here, Pussy," she cried to her sister. "Do you know
who this little girl turns out to be? She's Brocky Day's girl. Surely
you remember Brocky Day?"

But "Pussy" was still haranguing the town selectman upon his crimes of
omission and could not give her attention to Janice.

"Anyhow, dear, won't you come and see us? Pussy's disturbed a mite
now; but she'll love to have you come, too. We live just a little way
out o' town--anybody can tell you where the Hammett Twins live," said
this full-blown "Blossom." "Yes. My sister an' I are twins. And
we're fond of young folks and like to have 'em 'round us. There!
Ginger's all right, Pussy. We can drive on."

"You'd oughter fix them rails, Cross Moore," repeated the lean sister,
as the old pony started placidly up the hill again.

Mr. Moore languidly squinted along the staggering barrier. "Wa-al--I
reckon I will--one o' these days," he said.

He grinned in a f